


To Kill a Mocking Crow

by fusrodie



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:15:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4702283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fusrodie/pseuds/fusrodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An incredibly handsome elf visits Skyhold. Cullen is jealous. Cassandra Pentaghast is positively swooning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Kill a Mocking Crow

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like, you can read this over at my [Tumblr!](http://fus-ro-die.tumblr.com)

Cassandra Pentaghast never considered herself a particularly  _frisky_  woman. Her upbringing as a sheltered princess of Nevarra saw her locked away in her own world of fantasies and adventures. As time passed and she grew, so did her fancies, her imagination active like never before. Dashing princes smelling like roses and wearing shiny armor became strong warriors with sweaty bodies and broad shoulders, the young princess became a sensual goddess, whose love was ardent and unforgettable. Such was the appeal of the works written by one Varric Tethras, the reason why she spent so much of her time reading, sitting on her favorite stump in Skyhold’s courtyard. She never once imagined to find a man so charming he could sweep her off her feet and have her fanning herself when no one was looking, but the day had come, and she had not been ready. 

He would not have caught her eye if not for the Hero of Ferelden. The two were acquainted, it seemed, had met during the Blight. They spoke at length, holding each other’s hands with big smiles plastered on their faces, and for the briefest of moments, he had caught her staring. The wicked grin he gave her was enough to make her knees weak. It promised nothing, and at the same time, it promised passion, lust, the fulfillment of her wildest dreams. Cassandra could not keep her eyes off of him since then.

His armor didn’t glisten in the sunlight, there were no symbols of great houses, though he did carry a rose, tucked in his belt alongside a silver dagger. He was clad in plain black, shoulder plates and arms covered in metal scales, leather boots that reached his thighs. But what suckered her in was the mask, attached to a hood and shaped like a bird’s beak. He had removed it as he spoke, a thick accent she recognized as Antivan, and she was torn between giving into the sinking feeling as realization dawned, and staring at his handsome features. His eyes were the color of honey, warm, inviting,  _mischievous_. His blond hair touched his shoulders, brushed back, half pulled into a bun to keep it from obstructing his vision. A black tattoo snaked from his temple all the way down to his cheek. She had never seen a more attractive elf before. He moved with grace, cold confidence and laidback attitude she couldn’t help but admire. Her mind was blank, however, when she noticed he was walking in her direction.

* * *

Not a single soul would tell you Cullen Rutherford is not an intelligent, competent man. Opinionated, skilled, with a body that put many other warriors to shame and a face seemingly sculpted by the Maker himself. The usual poise he carried himself with added much to his attractiveness, and there were few women and men in Skyhold who would dare to refuse him. The Hero of Ferelden, Warden-Commander of the Grey, noble-born Free Marcher, legendary mage,  _Amell_ , had chosen him, after ten years apart and a few more months of subtle flirting and proverbial dancing. The change was evident: no one had ever seen the Commander so happy,  smiling so openly. Many said the two were a match written in the stars, blessed by Andraste, destined to be.

Passing nobles spoke of a wedding, Ferelden style, organized by none other than Josephine Montilyet of Antiva, supposed to happen a year or so from now. Both parties refused to talk about the subject, even after Cullen had started wearing a unique amulet and Amell a similar looking ring, even after the two had adopted a Mabari they named  _Commander_ , even after he had abandoned his accommodations and she hers and the two had settled in a much larger, fancier room in Skyhold’s living quarters.

The two were the picture of happiness – until a man tilted the balance and sent the Commander of Forces into a bout of jealous rage. Though perhaps  _rage_  would not be the correct word, for there were no smashed bottles or broken furniture, no big arguments and yelling. His rage was true, but passive, hands balled into fists when he saw the enemy, stony expression and furrowed brow. Amell had noticed it, of course she had, and it was almost a crime that it amused her so. Cullen had always been like this, protective, perhaps a bit territorial, but it took him little time to realize other men were not a threat and his was the only attention she considered worth having.

It was different this time. He was not dealing with Grey Wardens, who revered their leader and knew how to keep their distance. He was not dealing with apostate mages, who admired her for her skill and activism. He was not dealing with refugees, nobles or common citizens, who recognized her role as a savior of Ferelden, a protector of the people. He was dealing with a foul mouthed, obnoxious elf, a former assassin, a man who knew her much better than himself, whom she counted as one of her closest friend. An annoying, disgustingly attractive elf who flirted with her at any and all times. He never told her about his concerns, but suspected she knew. While Cullen could not tell if the smiles and the kindness were her way of  _flirting back_ , he would never doubt her, not for a second; but seeing her heal his wounds and embrace him when they greeted one another did nothing for his confidence.

Things reached a breaking point when the damned pirate joined whatever plan he had concocted. He knew her from Kirkwall, when she travelled with Hawke and their seemingly misfit band of companions. Cullen knew Isabela was a shameless flirt – Maker, she had tried to woo him many times in the past -, but he did not expect her to be acquainted with Amell. He never would have guessed the two were amicable. But the mage talked to her like the two were old friends, an odd notion, considering Amell had admitted to meeting the rogue in one of Denerim’s most famous brothels, The Pearl.

Cullen had taken a seat in the tavern that night, after his work was done for the day. Amell had asked him to wait for her there, until her meeting with the Inquisitor and Josephine was finished. Cabot brought him a mug of ale, and it struck him it had been a while since he allowed himself to drink. He discarded the leather gloves and left them on the table, fingers finally free. Maryden’s singing was a welcome change from the clashing swords and marching soldiers. It seemed to him the night would be a good one, until Isabela sat her pretty arse as close to him as she could without invading his privacy. The assassin followed suit, asking for wine, and the two started discussing their latest adventures before reminiscing about the past. That was when things got bad. The elf ran his mouth like no one he had ever met. Faint at first, making sure the situation was not clear, never mentioning  _her_  name, but making sure she was always part of the story. It started innocently enough, tales of her younger days, when she was an awkward mage not used to cities and people. But then he talked about her  _stamina_ , how he could not keep his eyes off her swaying hips as she walked in front of him, and went as far as calling her a  _talented minx_ , to which Isabela agreed, mentioning  _that memorable night at The Pearl_. Cullen refused to hear any more after that.

The duo left before Amell arrived, Isabela heading upstairs to  _meet a friend_ , while his nemesis disappeared without a trace. Cullen fought the urge to kick back his chair and look for the rascal, but it was not necessary; he could hear his loud boasting right outside, Lieutenant Cremisius Aclassi briefly amusing him by giving a sly retort before sitting at his usual spot and eyeing the usual maiden.

He stalked after the elf, stones clacking beneath his feet as he stomped his way into the gardens. Cullen would say, no, he would  _yell_  all the words stuck in his throat, demand that he act proper near  _his_  lady, the love of his life. He would not tolerate inappropriate jokes, such dirty insinuations and-

Cullen stopped dead on his tracks, mouth agape and shoulders slumped. Right in front of him, amongst the flowers and under the starry night sky, Cassandra Pentaghast feverishly kissed a blond elf, a red rose in her hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I had been meaning to write Jealous!Cullen for a while, but initially as a part of Grey Skies. Seeing as that one is taking a bit longer than I imagined to come out, this oneshot seemed like the way to go. 
> 
> Written as a birthday gift!


End file.
